


Led by a warm, ringed hand

by Mozzarella



Series: Wrapped in Warmer Hearts and Furs [1]
Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Falling In Love, First Love, Lost Love, Love at First Sight, M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-05 00:12:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mozzarella/pseuds/Mozzarella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Bofur meets his soul-mate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A beginning of ends

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for the kink meme: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/5821.html?thread=12714941#t12714941 
> 
> In which Thorin and Bofur are soulmates but conveniently find this out the night before Smaug basically ruins everyone's lives. 
> 
> This part is filled with truckloads of fluff. To make up for it, the next part will be filled with truckloads of romantic, love-at-first sight soulmate sex. 
> 
> You have been informed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they meet for a night and no more.

  
It was a grand affair, one that Bofur was neither used to nor comfortable with. An honor to all mining families, it was the day of the Arkenstone, a feast for miner families by trade, one night a year where they were celebrated by the kingdom proper, dressing in fine garb and feasting in the great halls of King Thror himself.  
  
Bofur remembered being brought along as a child, once or twice, by his older cousin, Bifur. He was barely of age himself, now, sitting at the table with many twice his age. Bifur had insisted--he'd started on the mines a little over a year ago, given a good position due to his cleverness and his carefulness.  
  
It was also due in no small part to Bofur's friendliness, his many jokes lifting the spirits of the other dwarrows and winning their affections as they whittled away more and more of the great Lonely Mountain.  
  
It was in the tunnels and among dirtied dwarrows that Bofur felt at home, not... stuffed into some formal wear and expected to mingle with the noble folk for the one night they suffered his presence. That he was young only worsened the situation--he couldn't stomach enough drink to excuse himself from the rudeness that his fellow miners were already displaying, laughing and feasting as if there was nothing expected of them.  
  
This was why Bofur chose to slip away into one of the back halls, to find himself some peace and quiet while the feasting hall grew steadily wilder in its festivities.  
  
He found his way up to the windows overlooking the valley, the fresh air startling him. Being a miner did not give one too many opportunities to enjoy a view from above, and Bofur wondered at the warm lights shining and flickering in the distance, signs of life from the human city of Dale even at this late hour.  
  
"Why are you not drinking with the others?"  
  
He was startled by a grand and kindly voice in the darkness, a darkness he had to adjust to after looking out at the relatively lighter outer realm beyond the window.  
  
"I don't fancy waking up slumped over an upturned table, covered in my own sick," Bofur said amiably, waving his hand with an ease he did not truly feel. The new voice shook him, but not in fear so much as in anxiousness, for his dealings with nobility were limited to what Bifur would tell him and his little brother about when he made dealings with the clans related to the king.  
  
"A wise course of action for any dwarrow," said his unseen companion, a tall figure (for a dwarf) stepping into the moonlight streaming in from the window.  
  
Bofur gasped, and the warmth that settled into his chest was nothing like he'd ever imagined, a deep and earnest joy spreading from his heart to his shoulders, warming his cheeks and making his hands tingle at the sight of the noble dwarf standing before him.  
  
He'd been told, like all dwarven children in his youth, of what it was like--finding one's soul-mate. They spoke of joy flooding your veins, warming your blood and settling in your bones. They spoke of vitality for the old and weak, and of contentment for the young, gifted to a dwarrow in that one infinitesimal moment, the first time one would ever lay eyes on their heart's intended, their _one_.  
  
There was no doubt in his mind that this was it, especially when he saw the look in the other's eyes--adoration, pure joy, a look that you would never think of giving to a stranger.  
  
And that was what they were. Strangers.  
  
But when their hands touched, Bofur taking a couple of steps forward as the other dwarf neared him, it was like old lovers meeting after a great many years, with many more to make up for the absence that had filled their whole lives.  
  
"I'm sorry," said the dwarf ( _the perfect, beautiful, strong-shouldered, noble-looking dwarf with eyes that shone like sapphires in the darkest of mines_ ). "I am... very selfish, to assume..."  
  
"There's nothin' to assume," Bofur said quietly. "Not when it's clear as day what--" he paused, one hand finding purchase in the soft, well-crafted material of the other dwarf's tunic. "--what we both..."  
  
For the first time, he could not find the words, not when a warm, ringed hand settled against his collar, framing the side of his neck tenderly.  
  
"I never expected it t'be like this," Bofur confessed. "So early. Me mam was so much older when it happened to her, much older than my da."  
  
"My father was only a little younger than I when it happened to him. Perhaps I've inherited the trait," the other said, pressing against him when Bofur wrapped his arms around his waist.  
  
"I don't know if such a thing is passed on by blood, m'lord," Bofur said, laughing heartily, "but if it were, then I might have aged two centuries before I even had a chance."  
  
"Come with me," the other dwarrow said suddenly, a warm smile never leaving his face, hands on Bofur's shoulders as he slipped from his grip.  
  
"Where are we going?" Bofur asked as he was pulled in the direction of the torchless hall, led in the dark by a warm, ringed hand.  
  
He thought he saw a twinkle of a smile, but only for his miner's eyes, which had yet to adjust to the darkness.  
  
"To my chambers," was the wry answer, and Bofur shivered in anticipation as he was led down a narrow set of steps, warm hand unwavering in its grip, fingers wrapped around his own.    
  



	2. Renting forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love and too-quick loss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the support friends! And sorry for the delay :3 So much love for the people (especially one commenter, you know who you are) who convinced me this needed writing. 
> 
> One more chapter before we (hopefully) move on to the next part of the series. 
> 
> Also there's a wee bit of sex ;) M-rated sex, not enough to be E but hopefully enough to fit the story.

Bofur tried not to look at everything that greeted him when he entered the chambers of... well, a noble. He could feel the warmth of their meeting trickling away when he was faced with the reality of it all, the stark contrast between poor miner and almost princely aristocrat, but it hit him again, full force when he found his lover's eyes (and how easily did he call this stranger, this noble, his lover), looking at him like he was the Arkenstone itself.   
  
"May I kiss you?" he asked, and Bofur tried not to gape, in vain. He nodded, instead, at a loss for words, his eyes softening when the ringed hand came up to cradle his neck, his thumb caressing Bofur's lips as if to test their softness (and in any other situation, Bofur might have laughed at the very idea).   
  
The first touch of lips made Bofur realize that he'd been holding his breath, relaxing against the softness of his one's lips and affectionately stroking down the length of the noble's braided beard. Bofur wondered at his age--such an abundant beard for such a young dwarf. Perhaps, he mused, it was in the royal blood. His own chin was hairless, though his lip was furred well enough to be considered attractive, but more and more he felt inadequate, both in look and rank, in the presence of the noble dwarrow before him.   
  
He realized he'd slackened when the other pulled away, searching his eyes with a great deal of concern, something which touched Bofur's heart profoundly.   
  
"Is this not..." the dwarrow said slowly, the bewilderment on his face making Bofur smile. "This isn't to your liking?"   
  
"I'd have say it is, m'lord," Bofur said, his tone light, "but I wouldn't be offended if I weren't t'yours."   
  
"You mustn't speak so ill of yourself. You are very..." A hand drifted up to frame the side of his face, smoothing over the high bone of his cheek. "Pleasing to me."  
  
"Hmm," Bofur hummed as they kissed again. His hat tipped back, and for the first time in a long time he thought he might benefit from taking it off in front of a stranger. It was a hat that his father had given him, when he was very small. He had only just grown into it, but before the noble one before him, he felt very small indeed.   
  
When his one began shedding his coat and rich garb, Bofur swallowed, his throat run dry and his heart pounding. He wasn't new to intimacies, nor would be be embarrassed by them. But what a sight it was that came before him, when his newly met beloved shed his tunic and revealed the rippling muscle, the hard lines from his chest down, the abundance of hair that led down, down low enough to send the blood rushing to Bofur's cheeks.   
  
Bofur, being the worker that he was, was built well enough. Stocky, well enough for any dwarf. But his noble, his one... he was perfect.   
  
Feeling brave, he pressed his naked hand to his lover's (yes, his lover, for the intimacy they were about to share) chest, feeling the heartbeat there jump at his touch. It seemed to match his own, verifying what he'd been told, and what all the stories had said--that their hearts would be as one, as with their souls.   
  
And their bodies.   
  
They landed on the bed with warm laughter coming from both, and shed the rest of their clothes much more swiftly. Bofur felt drunk, though he had had little to drink--drunk on the warm, low laugh making his lover's chest rise and fall. And when they kissed again, Bofur trailed his lips down lower, reveling in the feel of a strong pulse against his tongue and the hard flesh unyielding against the scrape of his teeth.   
  
They made love many times in that one night, learning of each other's bodies with lips, hands, and eyes. And, unaware of the time, they fell asleep tangled in each other, their hearts beating slow and peaceful.   
  
  
****  
  
  
Thorin had thought he'd known happiness in his time, but that was not the case, not until his one. A miner of no ranking house, a simple man with bright cleverness dancing in his warm eyes, and laughter that warmed Thorin in even the coldest places of his heart.   
  
There was another happiness, apart from the laughter and the lovely smile the young miner graced him with--it was the ecstasy, the joy of opening him, taking his tongue to the sweetest of places in his warm, wanting body, kissing him and tasting him in turns. He would run his hands down slow, graze his lover's nipples and feel him shiver at the touch, and more so when Thorin bent down and kissed him where he wasn't used to being kissed, scraping his beard against the stiffening nubs.   
  
Deep into the night, they found a way to join together, the miner's body yielding to Thorin's, letting him bury deep, down to the hilt.   
  
The expression on his face was pleasure at its purest, and Thorin pulled him down to kiss that gaping mouth, devour him in all the ways he could, deep deep inside, and out.   
  
He slept for a time this way, buried deep in his one, the hot squeeze of flesh all around him, until he woke up again and fucked his lover awake, sending him over the edge many more times.   
  
It was near morning when they found time to truly sleep, though Thorin awoke by sheer instinct, his body too used to the time to remember it needed rest.   
  
He smiled in the dim dark at his lover, hair loose over his back and mustache tickling where it was moved by his breath. He slept soundly, wrapped in Thorin's arms, his mouth half open at his chest, gusting at one nipple in a way that both amused and aroused Thorin.   
  
How easy it was for this miner, who was a stranger from last night, to make the hardy prince Thorin smile.  
  
He pressed his nose into he soft hair, taking in the scent of the caves, the dust and cold stone, the earthy undertones that was unique to him alone.   
  
Thorin smiled, embarrassed in his own way, when he realized that he didn't even know his lover's name.   
  
"It can wait," he told himself, pressing his lips to his one's forehead, keeping them there and kissing him once, twice, three times. They had forever, after all.  
  
This was what he decided, for perhaps an hour or less, resting under the comforting weight of his lover, before he heard it--the sound of distant horns, and more familiar, the sound of clanging gongs.  Emergency, the sound of a threat, from Dale down and up to the gates of Erebor.   
  
It was his duty to attend in times like this, so regretfully, Thorin rolled his lover over, laying him comfortably on the bed and pressing last kisses to his forehead, his closed eyes, his mouth (again and again) before whispering a promise to return that, in his lover's rousing slumber, he may not have heard.   
  
This, Thorin would only know later, was the last time we would ever see his lover. The last time in many years, after this fateful day had found its end.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *psssst* comments make me write  
> it's a proven scientific fact


	3. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not yet found.

Balin squinted in the open air, the morning sun dimmed, though the light still hurt his eyes, too unused to mid-mornings out on the balcony overlooking Dale.   
  
He heard the horns of alarm and, from far away, saw the fires, heard screams.   
  
"What is it?" he demanded, though in his fearful heart, he knew the answer already.   
  
That was when Thorin appeared, striding up to his side, looking out onto the valley and gasping. "Dragon," he said, acting quickly and hurrying to the edge of the great hall overlooking the depth of their kingdom.   
  
"DRAGON!!!"   
  
The gongs rang again, louder this time, and Thorin could see the people rushing out of their homes, running along the many paths in their haste to gather.   
  
He then heard the huff, felt the heat before it could come, and without a thought to guide his actions, he dragged Balin behind one of the pillars, just as the dragon unleashed its fiery breath and burned the king's guard to ash.   
  
Thorin's first thought was of his grandfather, the king. It was their duty to ensure his safety, and so with the rest of the guard, they gathered to the enormous gate, rallied and ready for the attack.   
  
But they had never faced a dragon before. They weren't truly ready. And, thinking back, Thorin doubted they'd ever be.   
  
\----  
  
Bofur awoke an indeterminable amount of time after his lover had left, his hair falling over his eyes and his vision acclimating to the dark. The candles had been out for a while, and he was forced to grope in near blackness (not such a difficult task, as he was used to the darkness of mines and caves) for his clothes. He braided his hair quickly, slipping on his hat. He didn't know the time, and wondered if anyone was looking for him. The miners had been given rest for the morning, but he'd promised Bombur that he'd come for him, so that they could both visit their cousin Bifur.   
  
His lover had gone, but not without leaving him with heady kisses and the memory of their night. He was reassured that his noble hadn't regretted what they'd done, but had no real clue as to why he chose to depart so early.   
  
Perhaps he had duties to attend to. Certainly he must have considered leaving a note, but assumed Bofur couldn't read. Not many of the miners could, and Bofur was an exception for his sharp wit. That was why he had such a position among the miners, despite his age. He learned to read letters fairly quickly, and had just begun to work on his Westron, for the sake of trade, and to a lesser degree, the books and stories which some dwarrows took in from Dale.   
  
He wandered down the rich halls, wondering at the quality of the stone, when he saw men and women rushing along, pushing and screaming and running towards Erebor's center.   
  
That was when he heard the gongs.   
  
He pushed his hat down his head and rushed, staying to the tail of the crowd and arriving at the city center, only to find that the dwarves had begun to clear out, some of them carrying as many belongings as they could, leaving through the smaller doors along the side of the mountain.   
  
He watched in horror as dragon fire swept down the tunnels, and where there were dwarrows running up the path, what was left of them was ashes, when the fire passed.   
  
"Bofur!"   
  
His relief was palpable in his terror, when his enormous brother barreled into him and nearly knocked him off his feet. He hugged Bombur tightly, checking him over to see if he was alright.   
  
"Come on, we have to go," Bombur said.  
  
"No," Bofur said, when Bombur made his way to the upper path. "Not there. It's too dangerous. We have to move underground."  
  
Bombur nodded, following Bofur down the path instead of up, against the tide of running dwarrows.   
  
"Where are you going, you fool?" demanded one, grabbing Bofur by the arm.   
  
"There're tunnels the miners use," Bofur said quickly. "They lead out the mountain, little ways West of Dale. The dragon's up there, it isn't safe."   
  
The dwarf nodded, and Bofur led them down. A number more began to follow, watching as their army ineffectually attempted to defend the capital from the invading drake.   
  
The tunnels were dark, but some of the dwarves had the foresight to take torches off the wall, shedding some light in the black of the mines.   
  
It was a long way, but Bofur felt safer in these mines than he did above. It struck him that this might be the last time that he'd ever see these mines again.   
  
Finally, they arrived at the mouth, and Bofur instructed the dwarves to stay close to the wall, for the cave opening overlooked a steep cliff, with nothing more than a narrow path that let out at the foot of Erebor, on the outskirts of the forest.   
  
Bombur refused to go ahead, waiting with Bofur as they made sure everyone was out safe. Bofur counted heads, tried to see if he could recognize the dwarves that had followed him down. He was surprised to see a number of noblemen, but chastised himself. They were all dwarves of Erebor, all in danger. There were no differences among them, not now.   
  
When the last of the dwarves slipped out of the cave mouth, Bofur ordered Bombur to make his way down, and his brother obeyed, bidding Bofur to follow immediately. The miner looked behind, one last time.   
  
Of the dwarves that had come through the tunnels, there was no sign of his one. Still, he hoped. He hoped that, when they found a way to reunite, all the dwarves of Erebor, he would see his one again. He felt a stirring in his heart that told him so, a bond only spoken of in stories. It was something that tied him to his one, and while he held on, he knew in his heart that his one still lived.

\----  
  
He watched in horror as his grandfather's people--his people were burned alive, made into ash in mere moments, when the dragon entered the cavern. While his father led the troops in another attack, Thorin doubled back, ensuring that the rest of the dwarrows could escape as the soldiers provided enough of a distraction to send the dragon reeling. It was a moment of victory, too short to be considered anything substantial.   
  
High above, he saw Thror spirit away the Arkenstone, running in the direction of his treasure room rather than to safety. Thorin growled, cursing in khuzdul as he chased after his grandfather from below, utilizing the shafts that led to the royal chambers, and escaped upward into the treasury.   
  
Parts of the hall were on fire, and Thorin would have run right on, had he not seen something that all too quickly ravaged his own heart. His chambers were in flames, burning high and long since salvageable.   
  
"No," Thorin whispered, shielding his eyes from the blinding fires. It began to collapse, burying much of what was once Thorin's quarters under wood and loosened stone. It put out some of the flames, enough that Thorin could see that most of what he'd known had been crushed under heavy beams, including the bed he'd slept on that very morning.   
  
The bed he'd shared with his lover, who had been sleeping in the time the dragon flew down into their keep.   
  
He felt empty. Cold.   
  
_They should have had forever._   
  
Lost in a way that he never thought he'd feel.   
  
_Losing your one is like losing a part of your own heart._   
  
He felt his chest ache, burning with dragonfire. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't see past the tears clouding his eyes amidst the smoke.   
  
His one was gone. Gone, only a day after he'd found him. Gone in no more than a moment.   
  
The dragon's roar echoed down the hallway, and Thorin's thoughts snapped back to Thror. The treasury. He knew that, like Thror himself, the dragon would be drawn to the gold. He had to save his grandfather--his family.   
  
His family...that was all that mattered now. After all...  
  
That was all he had left.   
  


\----

_"Grief severs many bonds, little jewel. Grief can shroud even the purest of loves, and make it as though there is nothing left but itself and the cold it brings."_

_Bofur lived by these wise words. He knew, from the very beginning, that if he ever hoped to find his one, he could never grieve. His joy was what tied him to love. He would never let grief cloud his judgment, never let it sever his bonds. There was no fitter companion to love than joy. And he knew that, when he found his one, his joy would never end. And neither would his one's.  
_

_Not while he lived, for as long as he lived.  
_

\--

.end. part 1.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sad chapter, not very well written, either! But don't worry, it'll pick up! Next installment, "Before we're due a journey", with its indeterminable number of chapters, will follow the two in the events before The Hobbit.


End file.
